Waiting Read online

*****

  Aron had taken an instant liking to Agatha Christie. She would be a star someday, that Aron. She did voices and dialogue great. Aron and Joanna visited Pinewood every Wednesday evening from seven to eight, because that was what Aron wanted. Aron and Shirley took turns reading, while Lena and Joanna listened, or more often, worked on a crossword puzzle together. Joanna was dyslexic and had worked hard to overcome it. Lena had not known that about her.

  September turned into October, and October into November. Dale had a stroke at the beginning of October. A minor one, the doctors said. The only visible change in her appearance was that the left side of her face drooped a bit. The droop would get worse as time progressed, according to Dale's primary doctor, Peter Aronson. A small blood clot had caused the stroke, he explained, but the stroke had not been as bad as originally feared.

  Luckily, he said.

  Dale could still blink and move both of her eyes.

  Dale had a second stroke, and then another. Dale got more urinary tract infections. And a fourth, tiny stroke. Yet, Dale lived.

  *****

  George's art debut was at a small gallery fronting the Providence Harbor. Caris, with Donovan in his stroller, walked in fifteen minutes after the show started. She was staying at a hotel; she assumed Lena and Shirley were staying with George.

  Many, many groupings of paintings greeted Caris, and she was not sure where to start. Where to find anyone she knew. She wandered around. Most of the work was pretty good. Amateurish, though.

  She would be polite with Shirley. More affectionate with George.

  With Lena…well. Who knew. The time away from Lena had not dulled Caris's feelings. Lena continued to be on her mind a lot, but Caris was glad Lena had left her alone. That she had left Lena alone. They had needed to get their shit together before they could give themselves to each other. And Caris was almost there. The months had given her enough distance and perspective to realize that her connection with Lena was, indeed, real. Genuine. The connection was more than being caught up in an emotional, charged situation.

  However, maybe the time apart had caused Lena's feelings for Caris to dull. The possibility tore Caris in two directions. The first direction: dulled feelings were good. There would be no need to get into a potentially thorny situation. The second direction: oh, no. Caris wanted to be with Lena, ached for Lena to touch her, nibble her, kiss her, look at her. She wanted Lena in her arms, or she in Lena's arms, and have them laugh together. At least an upside existed for whatever direction they were headed for.

  Caris felt a touch at her elbow, and then her father-in-law gathered her in for a bear hug. Then he did the same with Donovan.

  "You look great," Caris said, and George did. Immersing himself in his art had done wonders. His eyes were vivid, they shone, and he wore a red bowtie.

  "You too." They chatted a few minutes, and then George led Caris to his work. "I'm showing twenty-five drawings," he explained.

  "Did you get the boat picture right?"

  "No," George admitted. "I tried and tried, and then my instructor told me: 'You know what? You can't replicate a perfect moment. So I created another. Tell me what you think. It's Dale waking up. My imagining of it, anyway."

  The drawing was titled Spring and was the centerpiece. It took up the middle, top to bottom, of one wall. The other pictures, of varying sizes, surrounded Spring.

  Caris approached the drawing. Dale's eyes were open, but blank, and Caris's heart fell. Nothing's changed. George failed.

  Caris did not have the heart to say so, of course. "George, it's very—" Her flesh prickled. From this angle, yes…there was recognition in Dale's eyes. A sparkle. Dale recognizing her. Caris felt Dale call out to her. Caris! Caris! A grin struggled to break free from Dale's lips, but she was too weak. She looked like she was grimacing instead. Caris inched toward her. Probably if this was the real Dale, she would smell good, no longer like nursing home. Someone would have sprayed cologne on her. She was becoming a person again. A person who would want her wife and baby son? A person who could accept that he was a man and move on?

  Caris, a strange heaviness and a strange lightness in her chest, turned to George. She threw her arms around him. "You did it. It's perfect. Congratulations."

  *****

  Shirley and Lena emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, Shirley's eyes red and puffy. The realism of the picture, and the hope contained therein, had apparently sent Shirley off in tears. Caris noticed that Shirley went up to George, clutched his hand, and kissed his cheek. Maybe Shirley and George would find their way back together.

  Caris ventured a look at Lena, too, for as long as was appropriate.

  Lena.

  Lena.

  Her hair was short, shoulder length. She was lovelier than before. Lena gave Caris a soft smile. A fearful, nervous smile. The look was so galvanizing it sent a tremor through Caris. Lena loved her, plain and simple.

  Caris became aware Shirley and George were watching. She smoothed her shirt and proffered a grin. "Hi, Shirley."

  "Caris." Shirley attempted a smile and bestowed a real one upon Donovan. "He's gotten big."

  "Yes," Caris said. "He has."

  Caris and Lena went to the beginning of the series of drawings. The first one was titled Birth and showed a baby in the arms of its mother. Caris recognized the mother as a younger Shirley. So this was Dale as a baby.

  "He's so good," Caris murmured.

  "He's done Mom's entire life, hasn't he?" Lena's tones were awed.

  "Looks like it."

  "You smell good," Lena said.

  "So do you."

  Lena laughed. "I'm not wearing perfume."

  "You smell good anyway." Must be pheromones. "How is Aron?"

  "She's good. She enjoyed meeting you. A lot."

  "I enjoyed meeting her, too. How's work? School?"

  "Good. Good. How's your stuff?"

  "Good. Great." Enough of this small talk. Caris wanted to slip her hand in Lena's, tell Lena she loved her, and kiss Lena forever and ever. No romantic interlude happened. Instead, Lena and Caris saw Dale as a teenager, Dale at her first wedding, Dale and Reggie with their baby daughter, Dale in the hospital bed with sickly Reggie, Dale kneeling at Reggie's grave, Dale marrying Caris, Dale in the hospital after the wreck, Shirley reading Agatha to Dale, Dale at Pinewood (titled Hibernation) and then, of course, the glorious Spring.

  Dale grinning widely. Dale holding Donovan. Dale in physical therapy. Dale walking with the help of a cane. Dale with stubble, with a slightly older Lena and two beautiful dark-skinned young adults in purple graduation gowns. Dale with white hair, more stubble, a full beard, at Donovan's graduation—with Caris.

  The last drawing was titled Happy at Ninety, and showed an old man, Dale, in a wheelchair, surrounded by his family—Caris, Donovan, Lena, Reggie, Aron, Nakeem and even Shirley and George, who would be long dead by then.

  Oh my God, Caris thought. What a finale.

  "What is this?" Shirley demanded. "Why does my daughter have a beard in—" she counted—"six drawings?"

  "I didn't know you were coming," George whispered. "You said you didn't want to leave her."

  "George. What is—"

  "I would've told you if I'd known you were coming. I didn't mean you to find out like this."

  "Mom is transgender," Lena said. "Transgender."

  Chapter 22

  George's drawings gave Lena nightmares for the next couple of weeks. Oh, not nightmares in the traditional sense, but nightmares as in unsettling, haunting dreams. The nightmares started like this:

  Lena awoke one morning, Caris in her arms. Lena checked the time. Five-thirty. An uneasy sensation gnawed at her stomach. The urge to look at Caris, to make sure she was still there, that she was all right and okay, seized Lena. Darkness reigned outside. Caris was barely visible, so Lena reached over Caris and turned the lamp on. Lena kept her breathing and movements to a minimum, content to study Caris's profile. Her lips were slightly part
ed, and drool trickled a slick path down her jaw. Her hair was a rainbow on her pillow. "You're beautiful," Lena murmured, love for Caris burning her body. "I hope I make you as happy as you make me."

  Ring. Caris's cell, not Lena's. Caris never turned her phone off. Lena had never asked why. No need to. You never knew when there would be news.

  Ring.

  The gnawing at Lena's stomach became more insistent, and a heaviness settled in her heart. She felt in her gut the reason for the call. It's here. It's time. The day of reckoning. Her mother was gone. Lena wondered what the culprit had been. Blood clots were tricky, hard to detect. Or maybe it had been a stroke. A hemorrhage. An infection gone bad.

  Caris did not stir.

  Ring.

  Funny. The split second between each ring felt like a month.

  Quit stalling. Answer the damn thing already.

  Lena reached over Caris and grabbed the phone, disconnecting it from the charger. "Hello?" Lena sat naked, cross legged, her muscles tense and waiting.

  A surprised breath. A rich voice with deep timbers. "Hello. This is Dr. Aronson. I need to speak to Caris."

  "She's—" Lena rubbed Caris's shoulder gently. "Caris? She's sleeping. This is Lena. Tell me what happened. It's better if the news comes from me, anyway."

  "It's incredible, Lena. Your mother's awake."

  Lena swallowed hard. "Was it peaceful?" Her mother must have been alone. Shirley would not be there this early. No one should have to die alone.

  "She's awake. Awake!"

  Dr. Aronson's words finally penetrated. "Awake?"

  "Awake. She opened her eyes not even fifteen minutes ago and said: 'Lena?' "

  "What?"

  "She's awake!"

  Lena's pulse wobbled. Her brain shivered. Awake. No way. "You mean she's gone. She's dead."

  "She's awake and talking. I'm at home but I'm going right in to Pinewood after I call Shirley. Later today, we'll transfer your mother to Inova Fairfax for tests." Dr. Aronson said something else, but the bedroom spun around Lena. Wait. I'm dreaming. That's what this is. She was sleeping. Lena looked around the room, which continued to be topsy-turvy. She focused on a framed photo of Caris and Donovan. The room slowly stabilized.

  "Hello?"

  Lena fought through her cobwebs. "What?"

  "Wake your stepmother up and tell her. She needs to get here as soon as possible. You, too."

  "Yes. But wait, Dr. Aronson. She's awake? Mom's awake?"

  "I have to get going. Tell Caris to come in, okay? As soon as possible. We don't know how long your mother will be alert."

  "Bye." Lena hung up. Five minutes passed.

  "Uhmm." Caris was waking up now. Her eyes flickered open, and Lena got a glimpse of lovely blue. She decided to stay quiet about the phone call. For a minute, anyway. She would enjoy what she had while it lasted, before the past thundered down on them.

  Caris smiled, a pure I-love-you smile. "Last night was great," she said. Lena saw nothing of the past in Caris's expression. She saw only joy, happiness, love. A future. Lena's throat knotted. She tried to brush the phone call away, pretend it didn't exist. Such a task was impossible. She began with a stumble, aware that she was being too blunt, too rough, but was not sure how to give the news the padding and careful handling it required. "Dr. Aronson called. Mom is awake."

  Caris jerked like she had sat on a bed of knives. "What?"

  Lena got out of bed. "Get to Pinewood as soon as possible."

  And then Shirley walked into the bedroom. "She'll be okay," Shirley said. "I'll pray. God will make sure she's okay. She'll be moving around in no time. Stem cells are amazing things. She'll be walking around in no time, I guarantee."

  "She won't be okay!" Lena exclaimed. "What kind of life will she have if her brain's okay but she can't move? If she can't go to the bathroom by herself?"

  "That's not your decision. I'll make sure she has the sex change surgery. We'll get her in shape for that. You must think positive, Lena. You must."

  *****

  In reality, Dale died the day after Christmas. The phone rang, Lena saw who the caller was, and her gut told her why Shirley was calling.

  "Your mother died," Shirley said, without preamble.

  Lena was at home and had been debating whether to stop by the townhouse to drop off a Christmas present for Donovan, a present Lena had bought in October. Lena had a gift for Caris too, but she had decided to not give it, only Donovan's. Your mother died. Your mother died. The pain of the words was immense, searing, wriggling into Lena's empty spaces, filling her. Lena felt faint, and she pinched her arm. Feel later. Mourn later. "Okay, Grandma. Okay. Please don't call Caris. I'll go tell her right now, and then I'll meet you at Pinewood."

  *****

  As Lena waited for Caris to answer the doorbell, she thought: Funny how things come full circle. She had been the one to tell Caris about the car accident; Caris had thought Dale was dead. And now Caris would get that final news. Donovan's present was in the car. Best to deliver the news right away, to not let Caris get comfortable and think the call was social.

  Jennifer answered the door. "Lena," she said none too enthusiastically.

  "Hey, Jennifer. Is Caris in?" Lena tried to smile. She had nothing against Caris's best friend, but Jennifer had never liked her. No wonder, given the fact Lena had not bothered to get to know Caris after Dale announced the engagement. And if Jennifer knew about her and Caris...probably another reason not to like Lena.

  "We're having lunch," Jennifer said.

  "I won't be long."

  Jennifer held the door open, and Lena made her way into the living room. Caris had gone light on Christmas decorations, which was no surprise. Dale had never been big on holidays, and Lena's own apartment had no decorations. Here, a tree stood in a corner, a few wrapped presents scattered under it. Lena wondered if one was for her.

  "Are you here about your mother?" Jennifer asked.

  "It's that obvious?"

  Jennifer quirked her eyebrows. "Did..."

  Is she dead? Did she kick the bucket? Did she bite the dust? Is that what you mean? "Yes," Lena said.

  "Oh, Lena." Jennifer touched her hand to Lena's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

  "Me too. Thank you."

  "How did she go?"

  "My grandmother didn't say. I'm going to Pinewood after I tell Caris."

  "I'll tell her."

  Lena squeezed her fists. I want to tell her. I'm her lover. Or should be. I'm the woman she loves. She could not voice her protestations, though. Caris's wife was dead. This was not the time for territorial squabbling. Jennifer was as good a person as any to break the news.

  Lena followed Jennifer into the dining room. "Look who's here," Jennifer called.

  A smile lit up Caris's face. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she was feeding Donovan in his high chair. "Lena! Hey. Perfect timing. Donovan was saying we needed to give you your Christmas present."

  "He did, huh? That's a bright eight-month-old."

  "You weren't speaking in full sentences at eight months?"

  "I don't think I've mastered full sentences yet." Lena had meant the comment teasingly, but her voice sounded solemn and stern.

  "What's wrong?" Caris asked, and Jennifer went to her.

  Lena continued standing where she was, on the periphery of the dining room, and forced her gaze to the microwave. Lena did not want to intrude on the private moment, and all she could hear was Shirley's voice: Your mother died. Your mother died. Your mother died. Your mother died.

  Lena hoped Jennifer knew how to tell Caris right.

  *****

  "She was the same as usual," Shirley said numbly. "I went to the bathroom, refilled my water bottle and got peanut M&Ms. When I got back, Dale was slumped over and cold."

  Lena stole a glance at Caris. She was pale. Dale remained in the wheelchair; probably Shirley or an orderly had straightened her. Her eyes were closed, no grimaces, no frowns, nothing, but she did not particularly look at peace. Ju
st some indefinable thing. Lena did not voice her thought. Probably she was the one not at peace. "Mom looks so small," Lena said.

  Shirley wiped at her eyes with a tissue. "At least she didn't die in bed. Or in a gown. She wouldn't want that."

  "Yes, thank you," Caris said mechanically. "For getting her dressed this morning."

  "You know what Lena said when I called her?"

  Huh? Lena risked a look at her grandmother. What was Shirley getting at?

  "No," Caris replied softly.

  "Lena didn't ask how it happened, how her own mother died. All she said was: 'Okay, Grandma. Okay. Please don't call Caris. I'll tell her right now, and I'll meet you at Pinewood.' And Lena's voice was flat. No emotion."

  Caris's eyelashes fluttered. "Oh."

  "Lena's first thought was about you. Not about her own mother."

  Awesome, Grandma. Awesome. "Grandma, I'd been expecting this for a while. You knew it had to be coming too."

  Shirley swiveled her gaze to Lena. "She's your mother's wife!"

  "You don't know what's going on in my head, okay? So don't pretend you do. Caris is—she has—she's not a monster. You think we jumped into bed for the hell of it? I wouldn't do something like that to my mother. Caris and I—"

  "Do you love her?" Shirley asked the question with a mixture of curiosity, bitterness and distaste.

  "Do I love..." Oh, geez. Lena had no intention of declaring her love to Caris this way. "I love you, Grandma, and we'll talk about this later."

  Shirley's lips set in a thin line, but she assented with a nod. She tore open her package of peanut M&Ms. After a moment's hesitation, she proffered the bag to Lena. Lena took a few of the candies, and then Shirley offered the bag to Caris.

  "Thank you, Shirley," Caris said. She took a few M&Ms.

  The three of them munched in silence until one of the orderlies stuck his head in. "Excuse me. Mr. Vincent and Mr. Thomas from the funeral home are here."